


Out of Sight

by Moon_Disc



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: A bit of arguing, Gen, a dash of friendship, lots of mud, things to do on the Liberator when you're dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 03:50:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16611368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moon_Disc/pseuds/Moon_Disc
Summary: When a mission to the planet Veledos goes horribly wrong for Vila, he has to deal with the consequences alone. Who would have thought being dead could be so inconvenient?





	Out of Sight

Another mission on another rain-soaked world of grey clouds and cloying clay that sucked hungrily at his already mud-caked boots. Just once, Vila thought gloomily, as he tramped behind Blake across the clotted earth of a bare hillside, it would be nice to go to a planet where the sun was shining. 

There had to be places like that. After all, what was the point of Star One controlling the weather if a little sun couldn't be arranged from time to time? Perhaps no one had thought of that. Then again, knowing the Federation, such pleasures were almost certainly reserved for the select few. 

The sudden grab at his foot jolted him from his gloomy thoughts. His boot remained where it was, solidly held in a mud patch, and he carried on, overbalancing and ending up with his nose in the dirt. He could taste it in his mouth, feel it seeping into his clothing and clinging wetly to his hair and skin. Not pleasant, he decided, and let the rest of the world know it. 

His complaints were answered by a firm grip on his collar and the uncomfortable experience of being dragged to his feet. Avon thrust the missing boot into his hands and with a cursory scowl pressed on without comment.

"But I'm all wet," Vila protested.

"Take heart, Vila," said Cally, giving him a pat on the only moderately dry place on his shoulder. "At least you won't get any wetter."

"Won't get any drier either," he muttered to her back. "Can't I go back to the _Liberator_?"

As usual, no one was listening. Certainly, his face-to-face encounter with the earth had slowed him down and already he was trailing the others. Not a wise thing to do on Veledos, according to Orac. There had been something about oversized wildlife that had not sounded too appealing. That, and the mention of mutated flora. From the corner of his eye, he thought he saw something move on the edge of the dark forest. Glancing warily about, he replaced his boot, grimaced as sticky, slimy mud was forced through a hole in his sock, and then set off at a run. 

By the time he caught up with the others, they had reached their destination. Or so they said. To Vila, it looked like a pile of ruins. In fact, that was exactly what it was. Once, it had had sturdy walls, several feet thick, in-filled with rubble for greater strength. Once, the wooden doors had stood firm against would-be intruders. Once, perhaps, but all a very long time ago. Now, the explosion-damaged doors swung limply from their hinges and the walls bore testament to their failings in the face of laser fire. With the roof gone, there was no hindrance to the onslaught of the unforgiving weather. The scent of decay and wet vegetation hung in the air and a thin green coating of moss covered every available surface. 

"Nice," Vila said. "Is this what we were expecting?"

To his surprise, the answer came back in the affirmative. "It's a decoy," said Blake. "What we're looking for lies underground." 

So saying, he swept an untidy mass of plant matter aside with his foot. Beneath was a pair of metal shutters, smeared with mud and dotted with leaves, but showing signs of recent use. More promising was the lock with its flashing indicator light Vila could see peeking out from beneath a clump of mouldering vegetation. Ten seconds later, the shutters slid back and a bright interior beckoned. The heart-warming throb of a generator sounded in the depths, speaking to him of warmth and the comforting glow of electric lights. Much more his natural environment. The great outdoors was a wonderful thing, but to be taken in small, measured doses. And he had by far had his quota for today.

He started towards the steps leading down, only for Blake's hand across his chest to bring him up short. "You stay here," he said. "Keep a lookout."

"Why?"

"For a communications base that is supposed to be unmanned, this place is too comfortable," said Avon.

"No, I meant why me?" said Vila. "You can't leave me up here. I could catch my death of cold, then what would you do?"

"Celebrate?"

"We won't be gone long, Vila," Blake said. "We'll set the charges and be straight back."

"That's long enough for me to be eaten by one of those carnivorous trees Orac was talking about."

"Carboniferous," Cally corrected him. 

"There's a difference?"

"Slightly."

"Stop being obtuse, Vila," Avon snapped. "And stay alert. Well, Blake, if we're going…"

Taking their guns from their holsters, the three set off down the steps. Vila watched them until they had disappeared from sight, then stood up and surveyed his surroundings. Broken walls on all sides and one spectacularly large archway. That would be the way they would come, he decided. Several minutes of standing with his gun drawn waiting for something to happen resulted only in cramped fingers and an ache from his lower back. The cold was eating into him, nipping at wet patches on his sodden clothes and creeping down his neck. Every part of his body now felt damp and chilled. On reflection, a thermal suit would have been a happier choice than the coat, thin top and trousers he wore. At least he would have dried a lot quicker. But no, he had been dissuaded. It was to be a lightning strike, Blake had said. In and out in a matter of minutes. So far, they had been the better part of an hour on this accursed planet, he was wet through and the others were yet to return.

Realising just how much time had passed since they had gone into the base, Vila got down on his hands and knees and peered into the interior. A blast of warm air rose to meet him, restoring some of the feeling to his numb cheeks. Inside, it was reassuringly quiet. Or not, depending on how the situation was viewed. The detonators Blake had taken with him had a maximum delay of ten minutes. If it was as straight forward as Vila had been led to believe, he would have expected to have heard the explosions and seen the place in chaos. More than that, he would have expected to have been told that the others were out and safe and that it was time for him to be brought up. As none of these things had so far occurred, the only conclusion he could reach was that something had happened.

His suspicions were confirmed as something cold and hard was pressed to the back of his neck. The security guard issued the usual order, to get up with his hands where he could see them. After that, Vila guessed, one of two things could happen. As neither of them seemed particularly appealing, he decided that escape was a preferable alternative.

He rose halfway, then groaned and stopped. "My back's gone," he said. "You'll have to help me. I can't straighten up."

The guard hesitated, unsure what to do, obviously not having encountered any prisoners with lumbago. Another heartfelt groan from Vila convinced him. Slinging the gun over his shoulder, he stepped forward to help. Vila took the outstretched hand and yanked hard, pulling the guard off-balance. Down he went, and continued on down the steps in a flurry of arms and legs. As he hit the last step, Vila caught the staccato ring of gunfire from somewhere in the depths of the base. The thought that he might be able to help the others was quickly quashed when he caught the sound of running feet from behind him. He skittered to the cover of a wall just in time as a procession of black-garbed security guards hurried through the archway. 

Vila watched as several descended into the depths, while the rest remained on guard around the entrance hatch. There was nothing he could do to help the others now, he decided. No point waiting up here to be picked off either. That left only one option. 

He called the ship.

Black, green and grey was soon replaced by the warmer colours of the _Liberator's_ teleport section. Not perhaps as smooth a ride as he would have liked, but at least he was up and safe. His stomach would have time to settle later. 

"Thanks, Jenna," he said, with a contented sigh as he wandering over to where she sat. She pointedly ignored him and her attention seemed more fixed on fiddling with the teleport controls. 

"Problem?" he asked. 

Her answer was to punch the communicator button and yell his name into it. 

"I hear you," he said, backing off. "Sorry I spoke."

She was about to repeat the exercise, when Blake's voice came across the open channel, muffled by the sound of gunfire. A high-pitched whine later, and Blake and Avon appeared, carrying a dazed Cally between them.

"Good work, Jenna," Blake said.

"Which is more than you can say for us," Avon said.

"Blake, there's a problem," Jenna said. "It's Vila."

"What about me?" Vila said suspiciously. "Whatever it is, you can't blame me. I only just got here."

"Is he all right? Did you bring him up?" Blake asked.

Jenna nodded. "I tried. He appeared briefly and then vanished."

"No, I didn't," said Vila. "See, I'm here."

"Was there a malfunction? Did you try again?" Blake demanded. 

"Of course I did. Then you called in."

Avon rounded the console and consulted the recall systems. "I see no sign of a malfunction," he said, "but I will check with Zen just to be sure." With the computer's pronouncement that the teleport was operating within normal parameters, Avon sat back from the controls. "Then there's nothing we can do. He's gone."

How anyone could be ice-cold and soaked in sweat at the same time was a mystery Vila had never understood until he experienced it himself. Gone, they had said. Surely that was impossible. Wasn't he standing here, in the midst of them, covered in mud? Slightly sparkling mud now he looked more closely at it. It had dried to an iridescent hue that would have looked quite attractive had anyone been able to see it. But no, the others were looking through him as though he was not there, which he supposed he was not, given their assessment of his situation.

"Are you sure?" Blake said stiffly.

"Do you see him?" Avon shot back.

"I mean, are you sure he's gone? He could still be on the planet."

The ship shook violently under the force of a blast and the discussion was over. All three hurried away to the flight deck, taking Cally with them. For a long time, Vila stood staring at the empty spaces where they had been. Perhaps he was dead. That would account for it. What a way to go. Dead and muddy. Still at least it had not been painful, there was some comfort in that. Not that he could remember much more than hiding from the guards before materialising on the _Liberator_. And now he was here, what was he supposed to do?

Out of force of habit, he wandered in the direction of the flight deck where Zen was reporting that one pursuit ship had been destroyed and several long-range interceptor rockets had been launched from the planet's surface. Business was proceeding as normal, without him. 

"How long till we outrun them?" Blake asked.

"You aren't thinking of going back?" said Avon.

"I will not leave Vila behind."

"It's too late, unless you intend to gather up his atoms. He’s gone, Blake."

Blake turned his back on him and again put his question to Zen. "Very well, maintain optimum evasion strategy, then I want best speed back to Veledos. In the meantime, Avon," he said, glancing briefly in his direction, "why don't you see what happened with the teleport? We don't want another accident, do we?"

"Because next time it might be you?"

A thin smile twitched Blake's lips. "Or you," he said casually. "Either way, I don't think it would hurt to check."

"You mean I should check," Avon muttered to Blake's departing back. 

His gaze switched abruptly to the only other remaining occupant of the flight deck. Jenna stood stiffly at her position by the flight controls, her gaze fixed on the table with its half-filled bottle and empty glass. It took Avon's call to make her snap out of her reverie.

"I was just thinking," she said in answer to his question, "how quickly it happened. One minute Vila was there, the next he had vanished. I'm not sure I'm used to idea that he's really gone yet."

"I'm sure Vila would concur," Avon replied.

"Strange to think we'll never see him again."

"He had his uses."

"Not much of an epitaph, is it?" Jenna sighed. "Do you need any help with the teleport? There's not much I can do here until we outrun those interceptor rockets."

Avon accepted the offer with his usual lack of enthusiasm and the pair left, leaving Vila alone on the flight deck. Alone, save for the half-filled bottle of livid blue liquid and a glass. Temptation was within his reach, yet he could not summon up the enthusiasm for it. What was the point in drinking? Did ghosts drink? Did they need to?

He supposed he would have to make some effort to get used to his new life. No, he corrected himself, not life, for everyone was in agreement that he was dead. Since that was the case, he was left as some sort of limbo being, forever trapped on the _Liberator_ , wandering around covered in the mud of an alien planet. What a way to spend eternity, he thought to himself, invisible and sober. 

Once more, his attention drifted back to the bottle on the table. Just one little drink right now would have been just the thing, although it was going to take something more substantial, like live, functioning fingers and a mouth, to get it into his system.

He held up his own hand and studied it carefully. It seemed real enough. The fingernails were dirty, as he had expected after grubbing around in the dirt on Veledos. His fingers too seemed capable of grasping as he opened and closed them. He could feel the nails scraping his skin in some cruel illusion of life. Pressing them hard into palm, he felt the pain and noted the small reddish indentations where they had left their mark. 

The thought occurred that if they were real enough for that, then perhaps a drink was not entirely out of the question. He reached for the bottle, grasped it tentatively, then, reassured by the pressure of the glass against his fingertips, with greater enthusiasm. He poured himself a drink and sat back with a sigh.

“Well, cheers,” he announced to the empty room, raising his glass. “Here’s to Vila, a thoroughly good sort. I didn’t have a very good life though, did I, and cut short far too soon. Still, I had a good death. It was quick, and that’s what counts. Here one minute, gone the next. If you’ve got to go–”

He stopped abruptly as he heard a cry from behind him. Half turning, he saw Cally, a look of horror on her face, staring straight at him.

“Careful, Cally,” he said. “You nearly gave me a heart attack. A shock like that could make a man drop down dead from fright, you know. If he wasn’t dead already, that is.” The slow realisation took hold. “Cally, you can see me!”

He was up on his feet and hurrying over to her before he knew what he was doing.

“Cally, it’s me,” he said. “Look, I’m still here.”

But she was deaf to his words. She continued staring at the table, her face registering disbelief. Then, with a small shake of her head, she turned and left. Vila watched her go, feeling his soul sink a little more. His hopes had been raised, only to founder again. Another drink would help, he decided, and why not? He could do what he liked now, without fear of insult or castigation. Trouble was, with so much time on his hands, how to fill it, that was going to be the problem. That, and the fact the bottle was empty. Still, he knew where the store was, and with a bit of luck there was enough to keep him occupied until... well, that was the problem, until what? He had never given much thought to the afterlife, apart from keeping his distance from it. Now it was upon him, he realised that he did not know what was expected of him, if anything. Until he discovered what that was, he decided the best course of action was to keep to his usual routine, with certain adjustments, of course.

The search for those 'adjustments' took him through corridors, where the murmur of voices drifted back to him. Avon and Jenna in the Teleport section, he thought, trying to find the fatal malfunction. He was about to continue when another voice joined the discussion, and a moment later he had to jump out of Jenna's way as she headed in the direction of the stores.

Curious, he followed the voices, and as expected found Avon and Blake engaged in their usual battle of wits.

“I could replace every component in this section, Blake, and the answer would still be the same,” Avon was saying. “There is nothing wrong with the Teleport.”

“Vila vanished. Something is wrong.”

Avon glowered at him before switching his gaze to Orac and demanding its assessment.

“As I have already told you,” came the testy voice of the computer, “the Teleport is functioning within normal parameters.”

“Then explain Vila's disappearance,” Blake demanded.

“I do not need to do so,” said Orac. “Vila was teleported to the _Liberator_. What happened to him after that is no concern of mine. Now kindly let me get on.”

“That's nice,” Vila muttered. “All heart, aren't you, Orac? And you're no better, are you, Avon?”

He said it, not expecting an answer. He had grown long used to being ignored or belittled, and death had done nothing to change the situation. Avon and Blake quarrelled on, nipping at each other like a pair of feral dogs, unaware of his presence. Normally, he would have made himself scarce, away from the fallout of a verbal battle that was played out with predictable regularity. This time, however, he stayed. He had often wondered how such private spats ended, and this seemed particularly barbed.

“And then there were two,” Avon was saying. 

“Haven’t you forgotten someone?”

That strange half-smile that always made Vila anxious played briefly across Avon’s lips. The moment seemed to stretch a lifetime before he removed himself from Blake’s immediate vicinity and took a seat behind the console. 

“I said it would take one more death. Jenna will be the first to leave. She has less reason to be here than any of us. Cally will stay because she is an idealist. Or until you give her cause to think otherwise.”

“And you?”

“Do you need to ask?”

“You still want the _Liberator_?”

“Naturally.”

“How you given any thought to how you’ll manage this ship without Jenna?”

“Good pilots are not that rare.”

Blake nodded slowly. “Oh, yes, there’s many good pilots, but not so many who are talented. Without Jenna, the _Liberator_ is of no more use to you than the average freighter. More of a liability, since the Federation wants it. You’ll spend the rest of your life running from one battle to the next.”

“Isn’t that what we do anyway?”

“And we’re still here, because we have that advantage. So, if I were you, Avon, I’d be doing my best to convince Jenna to stay. If you want the _Liberator_ , that is.”

With that, it was over. Both sides were bristling. The look on Blake’s face as he brushed past in the corridor was murderous. For the first time since the accident, Vila found himself glad that he was not present to feel Blake’s wrath. 

Coming in the opposite direction was Jenna, bearing an assortment of cables. Blake’s expression softened, and he stopped her.

“I wouldn’t say too much to Avon,” he advised. “He’s not in the best of moods.”

“Are any of us?” she replied. “You should check on Cally. She took a bump on the head on Veledos, and now she’s seeing things.”

“She’s hallucinating?”

Jenna shook her head. “I don’t know, Blake. It sounds like concussion. I told her to rest.”

“I’ll see if she’s all right. What about those interceptor rockets?”

“Fifteen hours before we outrun them,” she said, continuing on her way.

Vila trailed after her, concerned at the reception she was likely to get. To his relief, Avon had calmed enough to give her a grudging glance when she entered.

“The parts you wanted,” she said. “Have you identified the malfunction?”

Avon put down his tool. “There isn’t one.”

Jenna took a seat with a heavy sigh. “Then that just leaves human error.”

“If Vila were asking me that question, I would concur. However, in your case, it seems unlikely.”

“Well, you can’t help wondering.” She considered. “Do you think we did leave him on Veledos?”

“Orac says not.”

There was a long pause before Jenna spoke.

“Cally said she saw him.”

Avon’s eyebrows twitched upwards. “When?”

“Just now. On the flight deck. She said he was drinking. At least, she said the bottle and glass were moving of their own accord.”

“Vibrations,” Avon said dismissively.

“Oh, vibrations, am I?” said Vila.

With that, he poked him hard in the side. Avon started. He stared hard at the space where Vila was standing, then looked away.

“What is it?” Jenna asked.

“Nothing,” he said, shrugging it off. “I thought I felt… no, my mistake.”

“No mistake, Avon,” said Vila, prodding him a little harder. Perhaps death was not going to be as boring as he had thought, now he had a chance to get a little revenge. Any gratification in the moment was soon lost when, far from making Avon jump as he had planned, Vila saw him visibly flinch.

“What’s wrong?” Jenna said.

“Cally wasn’t the only one injured on Veledos,” said he, clutching his side.

“No good deed ever goes unpunished. You should get that looked at.”

“Later. I’ll take Vila’s shift first.”

“No, I’ll take it,” she insisted. “I don’t feel much like sleeping. Don’t stay up too late. You look like you need a rest.”

He did not argue. With the others retiring, the ship fell into stillness. Vila wandered, helping himself to supplies, before drifting back in the general direction of his room. Did ghosts need to sleep, he wondered. He certainly felt tired. Perhaps though, given his stressful day, he could be permitted a little of the good old adrenaline and soma. 

A short diversion took him to the medical unit and a quick search through the units, including one that was locked, yielded up a hidden store. He was about to claim his prize when the door opened and Avon entered.

With his escape blocked, Vila rounded the bed and tried to slip away behind Avon. Too late, the door closed and Vila was trapped.

A long time ago, someone had asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up. Invisible, he had said. The ability to go anywhere without being challenged, to take anything, to slip through life unnoticed without having to fear the next hand on his shoulder or being on the receiving end of someone’s jokes. Back then, it seemed to offer everything he had ever wanted. The reality, however, was proving rather different.

He could have anything, but what did it matter if he had no one to share it with? Being ignored was nothing new, but there was nothing like the occasional barb that was thrown in his direction for validating his existence. Even being able to wander the ship undetected had its drawbacks. Unlike a conventional ghost, he still had to navigate doors and obstacles. And, if Vila was honest with himself, it felt as though he was intruding.

Especially now. Avon looked tired and drawn. When he pulled up his shirt, the extent of the purple bruising that dappled his ribs revealed he had not been entirely honest with Jenna about the extent of his injuries. Vila suspected that he had stayed in the Teleport section, after yet again checking and double-checking the system. In his own interests, Avon would say, but Vila took some comfort in the thought that trying to find a way to bring him back might have something to do with it.

Either way, it was time for him to leave. How to do it, that was the problem. If he was ever detected, he wouldn’t have put it past Avon to have him exorcised. He would have to chance the door. Avon would never see him, and in any case, would put the sudden opening down to a system malfunction. 

Turning to go, his sleeve snagged on a medical kit that had been left on a side unit. He froze as it fell to the floor, spilling its contents across the floor. Avon’s head whipped round and he stood staring at the scattered equipment for the longest time before investigating. With a dismissive shake of his head, he stooped to gather up the objects. Then Vila noticed him pause and reach for something else. A spot of dried mud, so it seemed. Avon picked it up, a thoughtful expression on his face as he rubbed it between finger and thumb and let the dust drift back to the floor. To Vila’s relief, he rose and went to the door. 

Out in the corridor, he appeared to be inspecting the floor intently. Vila saw his chance and dashed out of the room. As he rushed past, he thought he heard Avon say something. When he looked back, it was to find Avon staring hard at the place where he was standing. Vila told himself he was imagining things and dared to breathe again when Avon’s gaze wandered. With his heart in his mouth, Vila lost his confidence and made a run for it. 

Vila did not stop running until he had reached the security of his own room and had locked the door against the world. He shed his boots and coat and retreated to the safety of his bed. Being dead certainly wasn’t living up to his expectations, Vila decided. If he was stuck in this limbo existence, other arrangements would have to be made. Perhaps he could find a nice, quiet planet, where he would not be reminded of how things used to be. As he drifted off, the greatest sorrow filled him that he could not bear to remain on the _Liberator_.

Sleep did wonders for his mood but nothing for his wardrobe. His jacket and boots had vanished overnight, so bare-foot and feeling slightly chilled, Vila made his way to the bright glow of the Flight Deck. A discussion was underway, and it gave him a warm feeling to hear his name coming up, as though he was still a part of the crew. That would change, he knew, as time went on and eventually he would be replaced and forgotten or relegated to the odd comment every now and then. The overwhelming sadness of the night before washed over him again and his urge to leave was never stronger. 

Only curiosity made him linger. That, and a strange remark from Orac.

“Avon, the phenomenon you wished me to report is now on the Flight Deck.”

“Orac, you can see me!” Vila blurted out.

Avon had been standing apart from the group, leaning intently over the computer when Orac made his pronouncement. Now he straightened and turned to face the others, a thin smile lifting the corners of his lips.

“Well, now, that is interesting,” said he.

“What phenomenon?” asked Blake.

“It’s Vila, he’s here, haunting us,” said Cally earnestly. “As I told you.”

“Impossible,” Avon retorted.

“Why? Because you don’t believe it?” Cally was indignant. “I know what I saw, Avon. That glass was in the air, as though someone was drinking from it.”

“Actually, I do believe you. I question the cause.”

“Is it possible Vila’s spirit could have telekinetic abilities?” asked Jenna.

“On old Earth, such things had a name,” said Blake. “Orac was telling me earlier, something about noisy ghosts that were able to throw things.”

“Poltergeists, to be exact,” piped up the computer.

“Are we expecting Vila to get ‘noisy’?” said Jenna.

“I doubt it,” said Avon. “That would require effort. If he couldn’t muster it when he was alive, I shouldn't think he would bother when he was dead. Where is the ‘phenomenon’ now, Orac?”

“Behind the couch.”

“Are you going to tell us what’s going on?” Blake prompted.

Avon’s sudden feral smile made Vila feel uneasy. “Of course. But first, let us examine exactly what happened yesterday. Someone once said there is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact.”

“Who?” asked Cally.

“Avon probably,” Vila muttered, eyeing the full bottle of water on the table. As thirsty as he was, he would have to wait until he was alone. He did not want to upset Cally again.

“What matters,” Avon was continuing, “is that we have been deceived, or allowed ourselves to be so, depending on how you look at it. Orac told us Vila was teleported to the _Liberator_. Jenna saw him.”

“I also saw him vanish,” said she.

“Yes. And we assumed teleport malfunction. Where is it now, Orac?” 

“By the table.”

Vila froze as Avon approached. He stopped barely a foot away and Vila could have sworn that he was staring straight at him. The others were too, or so he thought. Then Avon reached out with a speed that took Vila by surprise and his hand closed around the front of his shirt.

“Ah, there you are,” Avon said, tightening his grip as Vila tried to squirm away.

“Hey!” Vila protested. “You can’t do that. I’m a ghost, remember.”

“Our error,” Avon continued, as he reached for the bottle, “was our assumption that the fault lay in the _Liberator_ , instead of concluding, as we should have done, that the fault lay with Vila.”

So saying, he raised the bottle and poured the contents over Vila’s head. The water splashed down, soaking his hair and making him blink. It ran down his neck, seeping into his collar and dribbled down his back. Vila heard a sudden gasp, heard his name called and when he opened his eyes, he found everyone was looking at him.

Avon released him and shook the water from his sleeve. “As I said, there are no such things as ghosts.”

Vila allowed himself a moment to bask in the warm glow of his companions’ evident pleasure at his return, as they crowded about, smiles all around. Vila had never felt so appreciated in all his life.

“Vila, it’s really good to see you again,” said Cally, as she patted him on the back. “Where have you been hiding?”

“I haven’t been hiding,” Vila said. “I’ve been here all the time.”

“Yes, he has,” said Avon. “Skulking around the ship, no doubt, listening in and interfering.”

Good-humour turned to suspicion in the blink of an eye. Trust Avon to sour the mood, thought Vila.

“Skulking where exactly?” asked Jenna.

“I haven’t been skulking!” he protested. “I never skulk. I never heard a word you said to Avon, Blake, and I know it wasn’t your fault, Jenna, and I never poked Avon in the side.”

“But you have been drinking,” said Cally. “I did see that bottle move. But I don’t understand why I could not sense you telepathically.”

“I was wondering that too,” said Blake. “Are you going to tell us now, Avon?”

“Orac told us he was here. We failed to draw the obvious conclusion. Then there was this.” Avon bent down and picked up a fragment of dried mud. “I’ve been finding it all over the _Liberator_ , in areas where there was none before.”

“Now you mention it, so have I,” said Jenna.

“If we were not responsible for its presence, then there had to be someone else here.”

“Vila,” said Blake.

“Precisely,” said Avon. “Last night, I was in the medical unit. Vila was there. Cally, you might want to check our supplies of soma.”

“You did see me then?” said Vila.

Avon spared him a fleeting glance. “No, but I did feel the movement of air when you ran past me. I followed the trail of mud you left back to your room. Then I discovered your door was locked – from the inside. It’s a rare ghost who can do that.”

“I didn’t think of that,” said Vila miserably.

“I gave Orac a sample of the mud to analyse. His findings were interesting. Orac?”

“Federation records indicate that the soil of the planet Veledos contains the previously unknown element, veledonium. Beyond its initial discovery, they could find no use for it. However, as Vila has demonstrated, it has the ability to disguise the subject’s presence from the primary and secondary senses under certain conditions.”

“What are those conditions?” asked Blake.

“Exposure to the Teleportation process,” Orac continued. 

“To the _Liberator’s_ teleport or Aquatar in general?”

“That would require further investigation. This is the first case in which the phenomenon has been documented. In this instance, Vila was rendered undetectable to you, but retained the ability to interact with his environment. I have been studying his progress.”

“How were you able to detect his presence?”

“Veledonium is not able to conceal body temperature from the _Liberator’s_ thermal imaging systems.”

“That is interesting. It could be useful to us.”

“Only if we can replicate the exact conditions,” said Avon. “Veledonium is unstable. The rest of us came back with smears of mud on our boots and clothes and yet were unaffected. Vila managed to smother himself from head to toe.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” Vila protested. “I fell over.”

“In small quantities,” said Orac, “veledonium will not produce this effect when exposed to the Teleport. That is why traces of mud have been found on the _Liberator_. I would suggest that it requires a greater concentration of the element to create a cocoon effect around the subject. Sound in particular is then bound inside this ‘cocoon’.”

“So that’s why you couldn’t hear me when I was speaking to you.”

“Did you have something important to say?” asked Avon.

“Well, not really.”

“Then we did not miss much,” said he archly. “The other problem with veledonium is that it is susceptible to removal by excess fluids. Had Vila overexerted himself, the sweat would have dissolved the mud and removed the effect. Not surprisingly, that did not happen. Also, humidity levels are kept low on the _Liberator_.”

“No wonder I’m so cold all the time,” Vila complained.

“Then why don’t you put your boots on?” said Cally.

“Can’t find them, can I? I took them off and they went missing. I’ve lost my coat too.”

“They are where you left them,” said Avon. “Find them and wash them, and they will reappear.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Had you done that when you returned from Veledos, you would have saved us a good deal of time in investigating your apparent disappearance.”

“Well, I didn’t need to, did I? If you can’t give up washing when you’re dead, when can you?”

“You seem to be managing,” said Jenna in good humour.

“Oh, I see,” said Vila indignantly. “Smelly, am I?”

“Failing that,” Avon went on, “the mud would have rubbed off eventually. When the amount of veledonium fell below a critical mass, Vila would have reappeared. Actually, Vila, if you do find your boots, give them to me. Orac may be able determine the precise level at which Veledonium becomes inactive.”

“Keep me informed on your progress,” said Blake. He clapped Vila on the back. “Good to have you back. Cally, did you finish running those checks on the long-range detectors?”

The others drifted away, back to their respective duties, leaving Vila alone until only Avon remained.

“It is good to be back,” said Vila, trying to engage his dour companion in conversation. “You know, it’s no fun not having anyone to talk to.”

“I’m sure you’ll make up for it now,” muttered Avon.

“You’re not so bad,” said Vila. “I can even forgive you for pouring water over my head. You did bring me back to life.”

Avon scowled. “You were not dead.”

“It felt like it. Pretty miserable it was too.”

“That depends on your perspective.”

Vila nudged him. “Aren’t you just a little bit pleased to see me?”

Avon glared at him, but his eyes softened slightly. “Perhaps a little. Finding a replacement for you would have taken time and effort.”

“You don’t mean that. No one could replace me. I’m unique, I am.”

“You can say that again.”

“Go on then, it makes me feel good.”

This time, there was no warmth in the look Avon gave him. “Go and have a wash, Vila,” he said as he moved away.

Vila watched him go. Strange as it was, it was nice not to be wanted again. And if he was honest with himself, he would not have had it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Not my characters, a little story just for fun and a tribute to a show I have always loved.


End file.
